Valentine's Day
by clokkerfoot
Summary: John and Sherlock go to Mycroft's Valentine's Day party. In a hotel.  Long planned fic, released for Valentine's Day 2012


The Valentine's party that Mycroft was having that night was making John very nervous. Mycroft was apparently bringing a friend of his, whom Sherlock claimed fancied Mycroft a bit. Sherlock was going alone, but John was taking Sarah. Sherlock stood in the corner glowering when John asked her to the party, but John thought nothing of it.

The party was set in a hotel, and apparently Mycroft had completely booked it out, including all the rooms. One room under each guest's name.

And it was a rather swanky hotel, so John had picked out a swanky outfit. He was wearing a smoky-grey suit, with a black tie, and black leather shoes. He was wearing sapphire cuff links; a birthday gift off of Sherlock.

Sherlock was wearing a very deep blue suit, with a contrasting white tie, and shoes which matched Johns. They looked a right pair, stood outside 221b Baker st. in £2000 suits (both were gifts from Mycroft).

He didn't know what Sarah was wearing; he was meeting her there. The cab pulled up in front of them, and Sherlock strode towards it, flinging the door open, sliding inside. As he walked away from John, he noticed how tightly the suit fitted around Sherlock's arse. John blinked and walked towards the cab, but as he stepped off the curb, he tripped slightly and fell not-too-gracefully into the cab, landing next to Sherlock with a thud, his head on his shoulder. John sniffed and shook his head, moving away from Sherlock, sitting upright, and closed the door.

Sherlock had a sly grin on his face, and his fingers were tapping on his knees. John sat as straight as he could, sneaking the occasional sideways glance at Sherlock. He tried to ignore the rush of blood to his groin.

The cab ride was long and tense.

Much like John's cock by the time they got there. He tried to ignore it and walked into the hotel.

He went to the reception and was gestured towards the main dining room. Sherlock walked behind John, following him eagerly.

There was a lot of people there, and John recognised a few. Molly, Lestrade, Anderson, even ! But where on earth was Sarah?

John saw Mycroft weaving his way through the crowd, on a beeline for John. John sighed, and walked to meet him.

"Hello. Lovely party. What do you want?" he said bluntly.

"It is about your... ah, friend, Sarah. She just called. She cannot make it." Mycroft replied.

"But why didn't she call me?"

"Ah... I am unsure."

John sighed and blinked slowly, breathing deeply.

"Did you, by any chance, MAKE her cancel?" he asked roughly.

Mycroft didn't answer, and walked back into the crowd, leaving John stood alone, feeling pretty let-down.

()()()()()

The evening dragged by. John must have gone through about two bottles of champagne. God knew it wasn't healthy, but he couldn't have given a fuck.

Mycroft announced to the crowd that the rooms were open to couples and for sleeping, and that each person was assigned a room. He also mentioned that the rooms were practically soundproof, and that hotel staff would be leaving very soon. The crowd murmured and several couples dashed off the find their rooms. John was so pissed he could hardly see beyond his nose. Oooh he was gonna pay in the morning. At least he could concentrate vaguely. He stood up and staggered out of the dining room. He went to the reception.

"Room for what... Watson pleaaase." he slurred.

"Watson isn't listed... but our records show that you are to be sharing with a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You need to go to room 221." the receptionist answered.

221... that sounded familiar. But why wasn't his name listed? John couldn't think straight, so he just wandered over to the stairs and staggered up them. He heard footsteps behind him, but paid no attention, concentrating solely on finding his room.

()()()()()

John pressed up against the door, reading the numbers on the plaque.

There was a 2... and another 2... and a 1! He'd found it! Congratulating himself, he flung open the door and stumbled inside, collapsing on the bed.

He pulled his jacket off, tearing off several off the buttons, before clumsily undoing the tie.

"Yeah... well fuck you Mycroft." he muttered, yanking off his shirt. He undid his belt, and flung it to his right. He slipped his shoes and socks off, then his trousers. He lay back on the bed, in his boxers, letting his woozy brain relax.

He was just settling into a fog of relaxation when he heard the door shut.

He sat bolt upright and flinched as the blood rushed from his head. His head cleared a bit, and he tried to focus.

He could hardly see in the dark, but he heard breathing. The bed creaked as a heavy form got onto it.

John could smell jasmine tea, and a very slight hint of cigarettes. It smelt like Sherlock.

"Is that you, Sherlock?" he asked into the dark.

The smells intensified, and John felt a hand on his cheek. A pair of soft lips pressed against his, and the blood drained to his groin.

So it was Sherlock. But why was he kissing him?

John was experiencing three things: lust, confusion and drunken-ness.

Not a bad combination.

John accepted the kiss gratefully, and he felt a tongue exploring his mouth, while a hand ran down his spine. He shivered and felt around with his hands, trying to locate a trouser or boxer waistline.

Instead, he felt a hot, hard cock.

So Sherlock was naked. Great.

He played with Sherlock's cock, running his fingers up and down it, driven by the moans of pleasure coming from Sherlock. Sherlock furiously attacked his lips, his hips thrusting in time with John's hand, which was now gliding up and down Sherlock's cock in a fist.

John stopped playing with Sherlock's cock, and threw himself on top of him.

"Oh, Sherlock, I've waited so damn long to do this to you." he whispered.

Both of their hardened cocks were pressed together, and John ground against Sherlock, pressing himself into him.

He kissed down Sherlock's neck, and nibbled lightly at his shoulder, earning yet more groans from him. John could feel himself beginning to climax, and as the wave of pleasure crashed over him, he yelped and bit into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock groaned and wrapped his legs around John's, holding them as close together as was possible, kissing John as hard as he dared.

"Sheeeerloooock!" John shrieked, breaking his mouth away from the Sherlock's.

His immense orgasm drew to a close, and John ground against Sherlock, determined to make him feel the same. Sherlock was moaning and kissing John ferociously.

The door creaked open.

Both men froze.

"John, I came to see that you were alright. You looked pretty... well, pretty pissed down there, and I heard yell-..." Mycroft trailed off, sounding pretty pissed himself.

The light from the corridor had illuminated the sweaty mass that was John and Sherlock.

Mycroft coughed, and turned his head sideways, covering his embarrassment.

"I see you are just fine." he coughed again, covering a laugh.

"Get out, Mycroft." Sherlock growled at his brother, making his chest rumble.

John groaned quietly.

"Gladly, brother. I see you are a little busy at the moment." he chuckled, backing out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Well... that was a little embarrassing." John whispered.

"Ah, but now he knows we are together." Sherlock said softly, tangling his fingers in John's golden hair.

"Yeah... I suppose he does..."

()()()()()

When John woke up, his head was throbbing, and he felt extremely sick. He swallowed and gagged at the nasty champagne taste left in his mouth.

He noticed that he had his arms tied together at the wrists, and that handcuffs strapped him to the bedstead. Last night must've been wild. But... where had the handcuffs come from?

He pondered on this for awhile, then realised what had happened last night, and who is had happened with.

But... John was straight, wasn't he? He'd never had interest in men really.

But Sherlock had changed all that.

Dramatically.

As much as he could remember, last night was the best night of his life. And it had been with Sherlock.

Speaking of which, where was he?

"Good morning, John." Sherlock's deep voice echoed through the room.

"G-Good morning." John spluttered.

"Want a hand with that?" he asked, gesturing towards he handcuffs and rope.

"Please?"

Sherlock came over to John, straddled him, and started to undo the ropes that bound him.

"I... I want to thank you for last night. You showed me how pleasurable life can be." he said as he undid the restraints.

"You... you're welcome."

Sherlock undid all the ropes, and clicked open the handcuffs. John flexed his wrists and sat up.

"Do you happen to know where my clothes are?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock pointed towards the floor, where John's suit and boxers lay.

John picked them up and put them on, layer by layer. He noticed that Sherlock was already dressed in his immaculate suit.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"I didn't sleep."

"So you just sat and... watched me sleep?" he gaped.

"Yes. Your snore is quite entertaining." he chuckled.

John wasn't sure whether he was flattered or offended. He made a fuss of dusting off his suit, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"We need to leave. Before Mycroft wakes up. He walked in on us last night, remember?" John replied.

Sherlock laughed and grinned widely.

"Mycroft is a little busy at the moment. I happen to know that he is sharing a room with Lestrade." he laughed.

"Lestrade? That was who Mycroft brought? Those two? Really?" he spluttered, dumbfounded.

"Yes." Sherlock chuckled.

"Well, anyway, we have to go." John blurted, squashing the warm atmosphere.

"Fine." Sherlock drawled.

John rubbed his eyes, yawned, and went towards the door. He looked carefully from left to right, then stepped out. Sherlock followed him out, grinning at how nervous he was.

"Just relax, John. Why do you care about what others think?" he asked dryly, putting his arm around John's shoulders.

"I care because I don't want it to spread around!" he hissed.

"John, your sister is a lesbian. I don't think you being gay will make a difference."

"That... that's not what I meant..."

"Yes, it was."

They walked in silence for a few moments, passing down several flights of stairs. Sherlock's arm had slid down to John's waist, and the two of them were hip-bumping as they walked. John, despite his slight frustration at Sherlock, felt the blood drain to his groin every time they touched.

They came to a landing and started to walk slowly across it. Sherlock stopped.

"What?" John asked.

"It shouldn't be like this. Last night was so... good. And this morning it's just... tense." he said sadly.

"It still is good. I still feel amazing feelings whenever we touch. Nothing has changed." John smiled, and pressed a hand to Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock moved faster than John could've ever imagined. In an instant, he'd pinned John against the landing's wall, his hands gripping his face, his lips attacking John's. John felt himself harden at Sherlock's eagerness. He groaned and slipped his arms around Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock mimicked his sound of pleasure and slid his tongue into John's mouth, exploring and reassuring John.

John was about to slide his hand into Sherlock's trousers when a childish giggle, echoed by a chuckle which sounded very much like Sherlock's echoed down the landing.

Sherlock seemed oblivious and continued to kiss John, blissfully unaware that someone was coming.

John shrugged it off, and kissed Sherlock back, slipping his hand into Sherlock's trousers.

He opened his eyes, however, and realised that Mycroft and Lestrade were stood at the end of the landing, doing something very similar to John and Sherlock.

John broke away from Sherlock, and retrieved his hand.

"Sherlock," he whispered, "look down there.

Sherlock looked where John was looking and grinned.

"Let's go and say hello." he chuckled darkly.

John giggled, sounding very much like a little girl, and tiptoed up the landing with Sherlock.

"Brother o' mine!" he said loudly, opening his arms wide as they approached the embracing couple.

Mycroft broke away from Lestrade and blushed. Lestrade was grinning like a school-girl.

"S-Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped.

"Hello, dear brother." his face broke into a large grin, "Having fun, are we?"

John laughed. Lestrade blushed. Mycroft just looked embarrassed, and Sherlock looked so smug.

"We were... I was just... Lestrade was..." Mycroft stammered.

"You were just kissing Lestrade, Mycroft. Are you two an item now?" John grinned.

"An item..?" Mycroft sounded puzzled.

"You know, a couple." John explained.

"Well..." Mycroft started.

"Yes!" Lestrade finished for him.

Mycroft smiled a dazzling smile at Lestrade and his eyes lit up. John had never seen him so happy.

"I think we'll leave you two alone." Sherlock grinned.

John and Sherlock wandered off down the landing and turned right. They stood just around the corner and listened.

They heard silence and then...

"Mycroft! Keep your hands to your-"

More silence.

John giggled and Sherlock smiled, and they started walking, hand in hand, out of the hotel.

()()()()()

"Last night was fantastic." John sighed contentedly as he relaxed into his armchair in 221B.

"I agree." Sherlock replied, lying down on the sofa.

They were both staring at each other, smiling happily.

John suddenly realised something.

"It was February 13th yesterday." he said.

"Yes. Does that matter?"

"It's just... that was a Valentine's party... and it wasn't on Valentine's day?"

"When is Valentine's day?"

"Today."

There was silence, punctuated by the cars driving past their flat, obviously in a hurry. John started tapping his foot, waiting.

"Happy Valentine's day, John."

John smiled lovingly at Sherlock, and walked over to him.

He kissed him lightly on the cheek once.

"Happy Valentine's day, Sherlock."


End file.
